


Take My Hand, We Can Build A Land From The Ground Up

by revenblue



Series: [collection] but you keep spinning 'round me just the same (Perryshmirtz) [55]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, POV Second Person, Sorry Not Sorry, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 07:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16990902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenblue/pseuds/revenblue
Summary: Stumbling through the wreckage, tears and dust stinging at your eyes, you search for any flash of colour. Any flash of teal.





	Take My Hand, We Can Build A Land From The Ground Up

**Author's Note:**

> The original plan was for this to be 100 words. As you can see, uh, it grew.

Stumbling through the wreckage, tears and dust stinging at your eyes, you search for any flash of colour. Any flash of teal.

Around you, others move, in shock. You're in shock too. You never thought-

"Perry the Platypus?"

The words tear from your throat, rough and broken, like the building around you. It's all your fault. If you hadn't built that inator...

At last you find him, that tiny teal left paw poking out of the rubble, almost grey with the dust. Falling to your knees beside him, you claw at the ruins of your building, fingernails splitting on the heavy rocks on top of him, breath coming out in sobs. Please let him be okay. He has to be okay. You don't know what you'll do if he's not okay.

His paw shifts and you grab it, squeezing as tight as your heart. "I'll get you out of here, Perry the Platypus, I promise," you whisper around the lump in your throat. "Just stay with me."

How often have you held his paw, waiting for that particular twitch of ackowledgement? Enough to recognise it now.

You exhale, a weight lifted. The rest of your life may have crumbled around you, torn blueprints and twisted metal mixed in with what's left of your building, but he's okay. Trapped under rubble, but okay.

All you can do now is wait, clutching his paw as night falls around you, distantly aware of the sirens and flashing lights and the crowds, paramedics and firefighters and _people_ wandering around you, searching for survivors.

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"

They say that, 'survivors'. The thought twists at your stomach and you force down another sob, eyes scrunched closed to hold back the tears. _Survivors_ , like there's been-

You didn't want anyone to _die_ , not like this. Not here, not now, not ever. You're not a _monster_ , you're just...

Broken. Like your building, pieces scattered around you, remnants of a life you'd squandered. 'Evil', you'd called yourself, like a fool, like it _mattered_. Mother was right. You never had a chance.

"He's in shock, see? Poor guy. We should..." They walk away, voices fading.

You squeeze his paw tighter. It's not a _problem_ if it's this cold, right? It's just because he's a platypus. You looked that up once, because his paws are always colder than your hands. Lower body temperature. That's all it is.

"Talk to me, Perry the Platypus," you whisper, lips brushing over his knuckles. "Make that little sound you always make, the gdgdgdgdgdg."

A paramedic rests her hand on your shoulder, over the shock blanket someone had wrapped around you without you noticing. "I'm sorry."

It doesn't make sense to you. Sorry for what? It's not like he's...

You tug at his paw, eyes stinging. "Wake up, Perry the Platypus... _please_." He's all you have left. Your rock.

"We found him." Another squeeze. "The rest of him. He didn't make it."

"You're _wrong_!" You suck in a breath, chest tight, curling tighter. It has to be fake. He's right here and you're holding his paw, hand shaking enough that you can't feel his pulse. "He's alive, I _felt_ it-"

"I'm so sorry," she says again, as if that could help. "He meant a lot to you, didn't he?"

Everything. He means _everything_ to you.

And all you can bring yourself to say is, "He's my nemesis," as if that could convey just how much you need him.

You tug on his paw again, and it comes free, flopping into your lap. A sad little arm. All you have _left_ of him.

**Author's Note:**

> 0:-)
> 
> Title from [From The Ground Up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLKFtIC2Idw) by Laura Shigihara, because I like my darkly ironic song lyric titles.


End file.
